Читать книгу All That Remains - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 8

ALEC KNEW SHE WOULDN’T be able to hold on to him for long. He was a big man, his considerable weight hanging by his fingertips and her grip. But she’d arrested his slide toward the floodwaters, and he inched his right hand toward the rope and grappling iron. A second later, he’d managed to grab the iron above the knot.

His shoulders were screaming. As he tried to pull himself upward, he cursed the bulky flotation vest that caught on the clapboards. With his toes he scrambled for purchase. Any tiny toehold. His booted feet kept slipping. But the woman was exerting steady upward pressure, too, and he got a better hold on the windowsill with his left hand. He closed his eyes, summoned the memory of doing that last pull-up in P.E. so long ago, and with a guttural sound put everything he had into one try.

He was almost shocked to find his shoulders over the edge. She wrapped her arms around him and held tightly as he tried to clear the window.

The damn vest snagged. He had to maneuver a half roll, which meant he tumbled into the attic and fell hard onto one shoulder.

As he lay there, winded, muscles shaking from the exertion, the woman uttered little cries interspersed with “Are you all right? Oh, God. I didn’t think you’d make it. Please. Are you all right?”

A grunt was the best he could do. She turned abruptly and shoved the window down as far as it would go with the iron grappling hook biting into the wood.

Alec flopped to his back and stared up at thick cobwebs festooning open beams. He’d left the goddamn radio, he thought, stunned at his stupidity. It was gone with the boat.

“Shit,” he said aloud.

“You’re all right.”

He rolled his head to look at the woman. The extremely pregnant woman. It was hard to see anything but that gigantic belly.

“I’m alive,” he conceded. “Thank you.”

“For getting myself stuck here? You should be cursing me.”

Alec gave a grunt of laughter. “Thousands of people have gotten themselves stuck somewhere or other. Nobody expected a flood of this magnitude, or the waters to rise so damn fast. Trust me, you’re not alone.”

“I didn’t know there was going to be a flood at all,” she admitted. “I’m not from around here. I stopped for the night before I headed into Arkansas, but I didn’t even turn on the TV or see any newspaper headlines. The rain was scary, but I didn’t have a clue until I drove into the water.”

“Car still there?”

She nodded.

He shoved himself to a sitting position, his back to the wall beside the window. With clumsy, cold hands, he unbuckled the PFD and yanked it over his head. It landed with a splat on the attic floor. It was bloody cold in here, but he unsnapped his raincoat, too, and finally stood to strip off the coat and yellow rain pants. Beneath, he wore jeans and a thick chamois shirt under a down vest. Wool socks and boots.

His cell phone was in the pocket of his vest, which would have made him feel optimistic if didn’t know damn well there would be no coverage here in the valley. Cell phones were notoriously unreliable throughout the Ozarks. He turned it on, in case.

No bars.

“Doesn’t it work?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Alec shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway. It would take a helicopter to get us out of here, and there aren’t enough of those to go around.”

She went very still for a long moment, as if absorbing the undoubtedly terrifying knowledge that he was as good as it was going to get. At last she said, in a briskly practical voice, “Your hair’s wet. Here.” She offered a piece of clothing—a pajama top, maybe Josiah’s?—and he used it to scrub his head.

Then, finally, he sat and really looked at her.

She was a small woman. Hard to judge height, given her girth and with her kneeling, but he’d be willing to bet she didn’t top five foot three or four. Small bones. Tiny wrists. Feet encased in enormous wool socks. Her legs were bare beneath what he guessed was a man’s flannel shirt. Probably Josiah’s, as well.

His assessment moved upward. She had a small, upturned nose, nice lips that were neither thin nor pouty and brown eyes that dominated an elfin face so thin it looked gaunt. Medium brown hair that had gotten wet and dried without seeing a hairbrush. Stick-straight, it was shoved behind ears that poked out a bit, adding to that fey affect. Not a pretty woman, for sure, but…something.

“Are you here alone?”

She nodded. “Except for…” She gestured at her belly.

“You’re having contractions.”

“Yes.”

“When did they start?” As if that would tell him anything. He sure as hell was no expert on childbirth. His wife’s first labor had been dizzyingly fast, and Alec had missed the birth of his younger daughter entirely.

“I don’t know,” this woman said softly. “I think now…almost two days ago. When I was driving, my back kept hurting. It would come and go. I thought it was because I was so tense. You know, with the rain coming down so hard, and hardly any visibility, and not really knowing where I was going.”

“Where were you going?”

Those big brown eyes sought his. “Um…to visit a friend. Molly Hayes. No, Rothenberg. She got married. Do you know her?”

Alec shook his head. “I haven’t lived in these parts that long. I’m sorry. If I haven’t encountered them on the job, I probably don’t know them.”

“Oh.” Then, in an entirely different voice, she groaned, “Ohhhh.”

Galvanized, Alec shifted to his knees, gripped her shoulder—so fragile his hand felt huge—and guided her as gently as he could to her makeshift pallet. “Lie down. That’s it.” She clenched her teeth, her body bowed so that he doubted anything but her shoulders and heels touched the pallet. Alec unpried the fisted fingers of one hand and took it in his. She grabbed on so hard it hurt. Hell, maybe she could have pulled him in the window on her own, especially in the grip of a contraction.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured. “That’s it, honey. Ride it out. It’ll pass. That’s it. You’re doing great.”

He listened with incredulity to his own drivel. For God’s sake, how was that supposed to help her? As if she didn’t know the contraction would pass.

When it did, she collapsed like a rubber raft with the air valve opened.

“Do you have a watch? How often are they coming?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “No watch.”

“I have one.” The glass was slightly fogged, but the second hand still swept around. “We’ll time you.” Her lips were chapped, and he saw a streak of blood. She’d bitten down too hard, he guessed. “Did you take a childbirth class?”

“I got books.”

Alec didn’t waste time discussing what she’d read. “Here’s what you’re going to do.” He demonstrated the breathing technique he’d been taught in the medical part of the police academy. He remembered that much, thank God. “Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Four pants, then blow. Got that?”

She nodded, those brown eyes fastened on his face as if nothing and nobody else in the world existed to her right now. “Yes. Thank you.” She hesitated. “Have you… Are you a paramedic?”

“Cop. But we have some training, too. I’ve delivered a baby.”

Hope lit her face. “You have?”

He hated to dampen that hope, but admitted, “A long time ago. I was a patrol officer. Woman was trying to drive herself to the hospital. She didn’t make it.” His mouth tilted into a rueful grin. “Scared me, but we managed.”

“Do you think…” She bit her lip, then winced. “I mean, that we’ll manage now?”

“Of course we will.” He found himself smiling and meaning it, although something complicated was happening inside him that he suspected was partly fear. Yeah, they’d manage—if nothing went wrong. If the baby wasn’t breech, or her placenta didn’t separate. If she dilated fully without drug intervention. If the baby didn’t suffer distress, or get the cord wrapped around its neck, or… Alec didn’t even want to think about the myriad nightmarish possibilities.

Most childbirth was uneventful. Cling to that.

Okay.

“You’re cold,” he said gruffly. “Let’s tuck you in.”

He wrapped a hand around one of her feet and found it icy. Swearing, he gathered blankets and bundled her in them.

There was a chimney at one end of the space, he saw, but no opening for a fireplace. At some point, a floor had been laid up here, but rooms were never framed in. Alec didn’t think the Maynards had children, which meant they’d never needed to add upstairs bedrooms.

“I had a fire downstairs,” the woman said. “It felt so good. But then water started coming in. I brought the matches up and even a little bit of wood, but…”

“The bedding was smart. We can keep you cozy. The baby, too, when it comes.” He paused. “Do you know whether it’s a boy or girl?” Or, from the size of that belly, both.

She tried to smile, but it trembled on her lips. “A girl. I haven’t named her yet. I guess I’m superstitious.”

“You call her it?”

Now a tiny laugh escaped her. “Cupcake. She’s Cupcake.”

“Ah, that’s more like it.” He laid a hand on her belly. “Hi, Cupcake.”

Beneath his hand, muscles seized and her belly became rock-hard. Cupcake’s mother groaned. Alec glanced at his watch. Five minutes, give or take a few seconds. Too bad he didn’t know how long it took to get from contractions five minutes apart to the actual birth. Assuming there was any norm.

He turned her face so she had to look into his eyes. “Breathe,” he reminded her. “One, two, three, four, blow. One, two, three, four… That’s it.” He counted and praised until the tension left her body once again.

“Better?” he asked.

She closed her eyes, but whispered, “Yes. Better.”

“Now I’ve met Cupcake—” he touched her belly again “—you and I might introduce ourselves. I’m Detective Alec Harper, Rush County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Oh.” Her eyes opened. “My name is Wren.” She studied him warily. “Um…will you need to put my name in a report or anything like that?”

He went on alert. “Is someone looking for you?”

After a moment she gave a small nod. “Cupcake’s father. He’s…” She swallowed. “I’m running away,” she finished, with an air of finality. “For Cupcake’s sake. And mine.”

“There’s not a warrant out for your arrest?”

She stared at him. “For my arrest?”

“You’re not in trouble with the law?”

“For heaven’s sake, of course not!”

“Then I promise Cupcake’s father won’t find you by any doing of mine.”

Those eyes, as soft as a Hershey’s bar melted for a s’more, kept searching his face. “Okay,” she said. “Fraser. My last name’s Fraser.”

“Ren? How do you spell it?”

“Like the bird. W-R-E-N.” She sighed. “I suppose that’s how I looked to my mother. Small and brown-feathered and sort of plain.”

He’d swear he heard a lifetime of sadness in words she said lightly.

“It’s a pretty name,” Alec said. Somehow, he hadn’t let go of her hand, which lay trustingly in his rather like the small bird they were talking about. “Wrens may not be colorful, but they’re quick and cheerful and full of life.”

“Still, it would be rather nice to be a blue jay. Or a cardinal.”

He grinned at her. “Blue jays are thieves, you know. Lousy characters all around. Cardinals are in bad taste. Too flashy.”

Wren gave another tiny giggle that warmed his heart ridiculously. His hand tightened on hers, and she looked down as if bemused to see where it lay. But she made no move to remove it from his.

Another contraction came. Gaze fastened desperately on his, she breathed her way through it. When it passed, she said, “Do you mind talking to me? You said you’re a detective?”

“Major crimes,” he said. “Homicide, rape, assault.”

“Do you like what you do?”

He felt his mouth twist. Funny she should ask him that. He might still be married if he’d been willing to give up what he did. He wouldn’t have lost India and Autumn, the two people he loved most in the world.

“Yeah.” His voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I like my work. I never wanted to be anything but a cop.”

“Then that’s what you ought to do,” Wren said firmly. “You’re lucky.”

Lucky. That was one way of putting it.

“You?” he asked.

“Nothing special.” Her voice brightened. “I did graduate from college.” The brightness left her. “But I majored in history, which is pretty much useless. I wanted to do grad school to become a librarian, but—” She grimaced. “I told myself I’d still do it, but…later.”

Cupcake’s father had come along, Alec guessed. He was developing quite a dislike for Cupcake’s father.

“You got married?”

She looked at him in surprise. “No. Oh, no. I was stupid, but not quite that stupid. We’re not married, thank goodness. Just…” She indicated her belly.

“Do you know for sure that he’s after you?”

“No-o.” Memories pinched her face. “But he said I couldn’t leave him. That he’d find me, and I’d be sorry if I ever tried.”

“Bullies like that don’t always follow through.”

“No.” Again she sounded doubtful. “But I’d rather make it impossible for him to find me.”

Alec didn’t like seeing that expression on her face. He smiled at her. “Well, there’s the silver lining to your current predicament. I can guarantee you that Cupcake’s father can’t get to you right now.”

Some of the tension left her. “That’s true, isn’t it? And I was so lucky that you came along. I told myself I could do this alone, but…I was scared.”

“You weren’t just lucky,” he told her firmly. “You were smart, too. You got yourself from your car to a house, then into the attic. If you hadn’t hung that white sheet out the window, I might not have come close. I knew this house was abandoned.”

“Why was it?”

“Old guy lived here. Josiah Maynard. His wife died quite a while ago. He let the place go after that, from what I heard. Almost two years ago he had to move to a nursing home.”

“He’s still alive, then?”

“Far as I know.”

She gave a little nod. “Then I’ll go visit him once I can. I should thank him for…for leaving some clothes behind, and wood and even matches. And tell him I’m sorry I had to break a window to get in.”

Alec laughed. “With water halfway to the ceiling downstairs, I think the house is history. One broken window doesn’t make any difference.”

“You mean, it won’t be rebuilt—” She groaned, her grip on his hand tightened, and they were off again.

After a quick glance at his watch, he counted with her. He hadn’t checked the time with the last one, but he thought contractions were still spaced about five minutes apart. Probably no surprise, not if it had taken her nearly two days to get to this point. Still, he’d feel better if they were getting closer together, even though he wasn’t looking forward to the denouement.

“Are you hungry? Or thirsty?” he asked, when she was resting again.

Wren shook her head. “No. I’m okay.”

“Warm enough?”

She seemed to do an internal check, then answered with faint surprise, “Yes.”

“Let me get the window completely closed.” He left her to pry the grappling iron out of the wood. The sodden white sheet dropped into the water below and was whipped away. He stood looking out for a minute, having one of those moments of disbelief, then shook his head and shoved the swollen casement window down.

The attic was not noticeably warmer.

“I really am sorry. I mean, that you got stuck here with me.”

He turned to face her. “I didn’t get stuck. I made a decision. You couldn’t climb out the window and get down to the boat while you were in labor. If the outboard motor had failed on the way back, we’d have been up a creek, if you’ll pardon the pun. It’s better to hunker down here with you. It would be nice if we had a working woodstove, maybe a kettle and some cocoa—”

“Marshmallows.”

He laughed. “Yeah, why not? But this isn’t so bad, is it? You gathered enough bedding and clothes to keep us from freezing. The water has risen as high as it’s going to get. We’re safe. You’ve got me to help Cupcake be born. Somebody will come looking for me eventually, or we’ll wait until the water goes down.” He shrugged. “We’re fine, Wren. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She thought that over, then said, “But now you can’t rescue anyone else.”

He shook his head. “We were winding down. This was one of the last places I was going to check.”

Forehead still crinkled, she asked, “But don’t you have family? People you’re worried about?”

“A sister and her kids, but she has a husband.” Useless, in Alec’s opinion, but his sister hadn’t asked for it. “I’m hoping their house is high enough to be dry, but they may have gone to a shelter. I wasn’t working that part of the county.”

“And you couldn’t call them.”

“I tried my sister’s cell, but it was off. She tends to let the battery die down.”

“Are you worried?” She scrutinized him carefully.

With a stir of amusement, he thought, She’s persistent. A bird after a worm.

“If I’d been really worried, I would have taken a break to go look for them. I wasn’t.”

After a minute, she said, “Okay.”

“You?” he asked. “Anyone you wish you could call?”

Her eyes widened. “You mean…him?”

“No.” His voice was rough. “I didn’t mean him.”

“Oh. Um…no. Except Molly. I mentioned her, didn’t I? She’s my best friend. We were college roommates.”

“No family?”

“Nobody who’ll worry about me.”

What did that mean? He didn’t ask, because she was having another contraction.

The world outside ceased to exist in any meaningful way. She had contractions. They talked. Alec suggested she walk around a few times. He poked in boxes to see if he could find anything useful to add to their meager stash, but found mostly the kind of useless crap people shoved in their attics: picture frames with the glass long broken, plastic food containers and lids, none of which seemed to fit with each other, Christmas ornaments and carefully folded bits of wrapping paper, saved from long-ago holidays, canning supplies… He paused at that one, and removed a couple of jars. He could piss out the window, but Wren might not feel comfortable doing that.

Mostly they didn’t talk about anything important, but it occurred to him as every hour melted into another hour, then another, that he couldn’t remember ever sharing quite so much with another woman—or anyone at all, come to that—as he was with her. She told him her favorite books, but in sharing that much offered memories, too. He heard a wistful story about her dreams of being a ballerina. Her mother had eventually put her into lessons, but then the shy girl Wren was had learned she would have to perform in front of an audience at the recitals and had refused.

“I kept dancing,” she said, “but only for myself. Dreaming, yet knowing I’d never go anywhere with it.”

Bothered by his impression of a lonely childhood, he talked, too.

He told her about fishing with his dad, of triumphs on the football field, of the first Thanksgiving after his father died, and then of how responsible he’d felt for his younger sister, Sally. Trying to disguise how much he’d admitted to, he ended on a light note. Smiling, he said, “My favorite part was scaring the crap out of any boy who looked at her twice.”

Too bad he hadn’t been around when Sally met Randy. Ancient regrets played on a spool that should have been long since worn-out. What if he’d moved to rural Arkansas from St. Louis ten years ago, when his mother and sister came here to live with Aunt Pearl, instead of waiting until a year and a half ago when Mom was already dying of cancer? If Alec had been around from the beginning, would Sally have made better decisions? Would Mom still be alive?

Great timing to ask himself unanswerable questions.

Unsettled, he realized if Wren was really listening, he’d given away too much. He grunted. If? He knew damn well she’d heard everything he said, and everything he didn’t. Just as he’d heard her.

Contractions were four and a half minutes apart, then four. She walked some more, grumbled, “Cupcake isn’t in any hurry, is she?” and groaned through yet more pain.

“I hope you weren’t looking forward to that epidural too much,” Alec commented.

She rolled her eyes and sang, off-key, from the Rolling Stones’ song “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

As expected, he laughed. It occurred to him, as morning became afternoon, that he’d laughed more today than he had in a couple of years.

She did finally confess that she needed the canning jar, and he turned his back when she used it. He pretended he couldn’t hear the tinkling sound that ensued. Finally, a small voice said, “Do I dump it out the window?”

He turned around. “I can do it.”

Expression defiant, she held the jar behind her. “Not a chance.”

Alec grinned. “We’re going to get to know each other even better, you know.”

Wren scrunched up her face. “I don’t want to think about that. And I don’t want you carrying a jar of my pee around, either.”

“All right. I’ll open the window for you.”

He muscled it up, then, smiling, looked away while she did the deed. Only when she gave her permission did he turn back and tug the window down again. Cheeks flushed, she set the wet jar—which he guessed she’d rinsed out with rain—some distance away and then retired to her pallet.

Three and a half minutes.

Three.

The contractions were growing in intensity, seizing her and shaking her in great, vicious jaws. Alec would have given one hell of a lot to be able to do something, anything, besides hold her hand, count for her and smooth hair from her damp forehead.

She kept shifting on the pallet as if she was increasingly uncomfortable.

“Shall I find something to make that softer?”

“I don’t know if it would make much difference. My back hurts.”

“Ah.” She’d said that earlier, hadn’t she? He wished he’d remembered sooner. “Roll over,” he said, disengaging his hand from hers and helping her heave onto her side to face away from him.

Grateful for something useful to do, he gently worked the flannel shirt up, careful to keep the blanket covering her hips—although her body would hold no secrets from him by the time they were done. Then, starting tentatively, he spread his hands over her back and began to knead taut muscles.

Wren moaned, and he stopped. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Oh, no! It felt so good.”

He relaxed. “Okay.”

It was the first time he’d touched her much, beyond holding her hand. She was a dainty woman, her vertebrae delicate, her shoulder blades sharp-edged, her neck so small his hand would engulf it. In fact, he could splay the fingers of one hand and cover her entire lower back. That’s where the pain seemed to be centered, although she sighed with pleasure no matter where he squeezed. He dug his thumbs in at the small of her back, and she arched as if in ecstasy. When he gentled his touch, she made a funny little noise in her throat that sounded for all the world like a purr.

Alec was dismayed to realize he was getting aroused. Crap. He couldn’t let her roll toward him and notice.

Think about something else, he ordered himself. Anything but fragile bones and taut muscles and throaty sounds of feminine pleasure. Think about… Yes, there it came, another contraction rolling over her body, changing the sounds that emerged from her.

He counted as he smoothed the flannel shirt down, his hands more reluctant than he wanted to admit.

“I’ll give you another massage in a bit,” he said, as he helped her turn over again.

Hair clung in sweaty clumps to her forehead and cheeks. “How far apart are they now?”

“Two and a half minutes.” Without even thinking about it, he stroked the hair from her face, trying not to react to the unconscious way she nuzzled his hand when he was done. Hoarsely, he said, “We’re getting there.”

He’d become—almost—accustomed to the intense way she fastened those big brown eyes on him.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” she whispered. “It’s…surreal. Like it’s been going on forever, and will keep going.”

“I know,” he said. “I know.” The strange part was his contentment. He tended to be restless. He’d always gotten bored easily. Law enforcement, with physical and mental challenges intertwined, had kept him engaged. He’d known he couldn’t bear straight office work. Carlene hadn’t understood that. Or maybe she had, and didn’t care. Marriage to a cop wasn’t easy.

“I didn’t know what I was signing on for,” she’d kept saying.

Alec still didn’t know if he’d let her down, or she’d let him down. In the end, it didn’t much matter.

Except…it did, because she’d taken his two little girls with her when she left. In the end, she’d taken them so far away, he had lost them.

Not a good time to think about his daughters.

He didn’t really even want to think about Cupcake. Wren, yes. He liked thinking about Wren. With her, everything felt good. Better than it should, considering they were strangers.

“Ohhh.” She grabbed for his hand.

“That was quick,” he murmured. “Breathe. That’s it, honey. One, two, three, four…”

Alec had the odd thought that he knew her face better than he’d known Carlene’s. He’d counted the scattering of freckles across Wren’s small nose. Studied the whorls of her ears and the minute flecks of gold and green in her eyes.

The contraction past, he found himself reassuring her with a gentle massage of her shoulders and neck that worked its way up to her sweaty head. He pressed circular patterns into her temples, used his fingertips to smooth her forehead. It was all he could do not to run his thumb over her chapped lips.

Not a stranger. Not anymore.

Jarred, he had the thought that, eventually, she’d get taken to the hospital, and he’d go to work. If they kept her long, he might stop by to visit once.

Her eyes were closed. She was breathing softly, for this moment utterly relaxed. She wouldn’t see the way he was frowning, or the inner quake that probably showed on his face as he imagined a future when he’d never know what had happened to Wren.